observe her. Before she'd taken a half-dozen steps, Mama pounced upon her like a cat after a ball of string.
'Samantha! There you are, darling. I've looked for you everywhere. Misters Babcock and Whitmore wish to
Sammie looked over Mama's shoulder at the two hovering dandies and forced herself to smile, although she suspected she merely bared her teeth. 'Wonderful doesn't begin to describe my feelings, Mama.'
Mama beamed. 'Excellent! The quartet is about to begin a quadrille.'
'Actually,' Sammie said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice, 'I don't want to-'
'Miss a single note,' Mama finished with a laugh and a warning glare. 'Come along, Samantha.'
Somehow managing to suppress a groan, Sammie cast a quick longing glance toward the sanctuary of the potted trees. She recognized that admonishing look in Mama's eye. The only way she could hope to escape the quadrille would be if Mrs. Nordfield's floor obligingly opened up and swallowed her. She stared at the wooden floor, praying for a miracle, willing the parquet to yawn open before her, but her prayers went unanswered. Stiffening her spine, Sammie braced herself to allow Misters Babcock and Whitmore to lead her to the dance floor, vowing that this was the last soiree she would ever attend.
'I'm afraid Miss Briggeham promised the upcoming quadrille to me,' came Lord Wesley's deep voice behind them.
Sammie, Mama, and the dandies turned around in unison. Sammie watched Mama's eyes widen at the sight of the earl.
'Lord Wesley,' said Mama, dropping into a low, graceful curtsy. 'What a lovely surprise to see you here.' Mama straightened and flashed him her most beatific smile, while adroitly elbowing Misters Babcock and Whitmore aside. 'And how divine that you wish to dance with Samantha.'
'Yes, divine,' Sammie echoed without a lick of enthusiasm.
Amusement flashed in Lord Wesley's brown eyes. 'Perhaps, Miss Briggeham, you'd prefer to accompany me on a tour of the gallery? I understand Mrs. Nordfield and her daughters are talented artists.' He turned to Mama. 'You're welcome to accompany us, Mrs. Briggeham, if you wish.'
Mama's face lit up like a candle. 'How kind you are, my lord. I would be delighted-'
'I say'-broke in Mr. Babcock, peering through his quizzing glass and thus resembling a one-eyed hedgehog-'If Miss Briggeham isn't going to dance the quadrule with Wesley, I think she should-'
A series of chirping sounds emitted from Mama's lips. 'Heavens,' she breathed, clutching Mr. Babcock's arm. 'I feel quite faint. Mr. Babcock, will you and Mr. Whitmore please escort me to my husband?'
'Are you all right, Mama?' Sammie asked, knowing from experience that the question was expected of her. She also knew, however, that Mama would never 'faint' without a settee nearby.
'I'm fine, darling. I simply need to rest for a moment. So much excitement, you know.'
'Allow me to assist you, Mrs. Briggeham,' Lord Wesley said, offering his hand. Mama waved aside his concern. 'I'll be fine, thanks to the kind assistance of Misters Babcock and Whitmore. You two go tour the gallery. There's no need for me to chaperone. I can see from here that there are at least a dozen guests enjoying the paintings.' Seizing Misters Babcock and Whitmore each firmly by an arm, Mama led them away, emitting several more chirps.
Sammie observed Lord Wesley from the corner of her eye and fought to hide a smile at the half-dazed, half- amused expression he fixed upon Mama's departing back.
'Your mother is very efficient at social…' his voice trailed off as he clearly struggled to find the proper word.
'Manipulation?' she suggested.
He turned to her, his lips twitching. 'I was going to say strategy.' Extending his elbow, he offered his arm. 'Shall we tour the gallery?'
Sammie hesitated. 'I appreciate you rescuing me, my lord. However, it is not necessary for you to continue the ruse.'
'What ruse is that, Miss Briggeham?'
'The 'I'll escort you to the gallery so you aren't forced to dance with those nincom-I mean, gentlemen'-ruse. I'm most grateful, but-'
'You're quite welcome. However, it was no ruse. I very much would like the honor of your company.'
She looked up at him, searching for the telltale signs of calculated speculation she'd grown accustomed to over the past weeks. To her surprise, however, she only saw what appeared to be warm courtesy. Still, he no doubt only wished to escort her to question her about the Bride Thief, a prospect that filled her with resignation. Deciding to get the inevitable over with as quickly as possible, she queried, 'Why do you wish for my company?'
He leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. She breathed in, enjoying his clean scent even as she dreaded his answer. 'I promised Mrs. Nordfield I would view her paintings, and I believe she wishes me to do so with her unmarried daughter. You would be doing me a service to accompany me.' He leaned back. 'Besides, I understand the paintings are… unusual, and I'd welcome your opinion.'
'I'm afraid my knowledge of art is limited, my lord.'
'With all due respect to our hostess, I fear 'art' is most likely not what we shall be observing, Miss Briggeham.'
Laughter bubbled in Sammie's throat. At least this man was amusing. And after the way he'd rescued her from the horrors of the quadrille, she supposed she owed him a boon. Relaxing a bit for the first time in hours, she inclined her head and curved her gloved hand around his extended elbow. 'You've piqued my interest, Lord Wesley. I'd be delighted to view the gallery with you.'
Chapter Five
Eric walked slowly toward the long gallery, very much aware of the small, gloved hand resting lightly against his sleeve. Very much aware of the petite woman strolling next to him.
The touch of her dainty hand radiated heated tingles up and down his arm. He wasn't sure why she evoked such a reaction in him, but there was no denying that she did.
They paused in front of the first canvas. From the corner of his eyes, he watched her study the painting for nearly a minute, angling her head first right, then left.
'It's very… interesting,' she finally offered.
Eric stared at the hodgepodge of dark colors. 'It's appallingly awful,' he whispered.
A noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle erupted from her throat, and she hastily coughed. She looked up at him, and he was struck by her eyes… keenly intelligent eyes that appeared magnified behind the thick lenses of her spectacles. They reminded him of aquamarines-brilliant, shining, and sparkling clear.
He studied her upturned face carefully. A smattering of pale freckles paraded across her small nose. His gaze drifted to her mouth and his attention was captured by one lone freckle dotting her pale skin near the corner of her upper lip… her sinfully plump upper lip that along with its equally full mate appeared too large for her heart-shaped face. Her thick, chestnut hair was pulled into a chignon, with artful curls framing her face. Several shiny strands had worked free of their pins, lending her a slightly disheveled air. A sudden urge to sift his fingers through those disarrayed curls washed over him, and his brow tugged downward in a frown.
She leaned a bit closer to him. 'You're the art expert among us, my lord. What does this painting depict?'
He inhaled and a tantalizing whiff of honey tickled his senses, along with the faint scent of… freshly dug dirt? He suppressed a smile. The woman called a toad, a mouse, and a garden snake pets, and her 'perfume' revealed she'd spent time digging in the mud before attending Mrs. Nordfield's party, yet that elusive trace of honey smelled good enough to eat. What an… intriguing combination.
Forcing his attention back to the god-awful painting, he said in a serious tone, 'This is a barn during a particularly fierce rainstorm.' He pointed to a shapeless brown blob. 'Here you can see a horse dashing back to its stall.' He looked down at her. 'Do you not agree?'
She offered him a smile, and his breath caught as it had at the cottage. Her smile transformed her, lighting her
